


Lost Stars

by wingsofbadass



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Connie being a questionable wingman, Explicit Language, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Jean having a huge ridiculous crush, M/M, One Night Stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 18:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2398994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an amazing night with Marco, Jean's so infatuated with him it's almost ridiculous. Connie definitely gets the Wingman of the Year Award for that one. Or, maybe not...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Stars

Jean woke up with his nose buried in the fluffiest pillow ever.

He knew instantly that he was not in his own bed. The sheets smelled flowery and clean and he could feel sunshine on his skin. His own bedroom window on the seventh floor faced an almost identical apartment complex that completely blocked any sunlight from flooding his bed. His mornings were usually chilly and gray.

Squirming slightly in his position on his belly, Jean gave one last feeble attempt at fighting consciousness before accepting that there was no way he was going back to sleep. Not when he was slowly becoming aware of the deep, steady breathing beside him, of the warmth that can only be that of another body, of that particular heaviness in his body.

After blinking against the brightness for longer than he was willing to admit, Jean finally dared to turn his head to his left. With his cheek pressed into the softness of the pillow, he let his eyes fall on the amazingness next to him.

Marco.

He was lying on his side, his right arm angled towards Jean, not quite reaching out. Jean's gaze traveled up the curve of Marco's arm, followed the trail of freckles against bronze skin over his shoulder to the soft features of his face, relaxed and lovely in sleep. He couldn't quite keep himself from lingering on Marco's lips, slightly parted, and the memory of their softness hotly rose inside of Jean, spreading over his cheeks and making his chest burn.

The desire to touch him, to envelop himself in that warm embrace again, was so powerful that Jean buried his face back in the pillow with an embarrassed grumble.

This was far from the first time that Jean had woken up in a strange bed after a long night. Usually he didn't stay long. Not because he had some kind of commitment issue that had him sneaking away from the person still sleeping. It was just that his inner alarm clock kept him from sleeping in later than ten, no matter how late, or rather early, he went to bed. And, frankly, lying around for hours until the guy or girl woke up so they could maybe go for a second round or have breakfast together was fucking _boring_.

Jean peeked up at Marco again. God, he was cute. 

Somehow he found himself reluctant to leave.

Unable to fight the craving any longer, Jean laced his fingers with Marco's to carefully lift his arm and slip closer. His steady breaths shifted into one long inhale as he roused slowly. Jean made a little guilty grimace, lowering Marco's arm gingerly around his back, trying not to jostle him further.

With a deep hum, Marco tightened his hold around Jean, his warm palm pressing him closer against his chest. Jean closed his eyes at the content flutter of his heart and pressed his face into the crook of Marco's neck, inhaling the scent of his skin.

“Mmmhhh, morning,” Marco rasped, his voice raw from sleep and a night of partying.

“Morning.” Jean's voice wasn't in much better condition. His hands splayed against Marco's broad chest, Jean dragged his lips up his neck, admiring the way he shivered against him. Another sleepy hum as Jean pressed a kiss against his jaw.

“How're so awake already?” The words tumbled from his lips in a sleepy jumble, almost childish and definitely adorable. Jean just laughed against his neck and rolled Marco onto his back slipping a leg between his, eager to get closer. He was not at all opposed to a repeat of last night's events but after a tentative roll of his hips elicited nothing but a grumble from Marco it was obvious he was nowhere near awake enough.

So Jean settled for leaning down, balanced on his elbows, and kissing him, softly. Marco returned the kiss lazily, and the tenderness of it left Jean full of a jittery warmth, had him sighing into the kiss. As finger tips stroked slowly up his spine to scratch through the short hair of his undercut and vanish in the longer strands, Jean felt Marco smiling against his lips, and he couldn't keep the grin from stretching across his own face in return.

He backed away, allowing just the tiniest of distances between their lips, in which he could still feel Marco's breath, and he watched Marco's dark lashes flutter as he opened his eyes. With his face slightly screwed up against the harsh sunlight, he looked up at Jean, whose heart thrummed against his ribs, treacherously laying his adoration bare.

It had started with a shared laugh about the way Connie had accidentally spilled some of his beer when taking a look at his watch without considering the bottle he was holding in the same hand. Jean and Marco had been the only ones to see and break out into giggles in Sasha's crowded kitchen. And so they'd found themselves spending the majority of her birthday party in a corner talking to each other, barely paying attention to anything but each other.

It had ended with Marco pressing Jean into the sheets, his hands burning across his skin, his hips rolling into his, his moans hot against his throat.

Swallowing down the warm, fuzzy feeling rising inside him at the way Marco was looking up at him, Jean trailed his knuckles lightly over his freckled cheek. He wondered briefly if this overly affectionate gesture was weird but Marco leaned into the touch, letting his eyes slide shut again, and Jean found himself thinking: _Fuck. I'm doomed._

“Give me just five more minutes,” Marco mumbled, “and I will make you the best breakfast you've ever tasted.”

“Is that a euphemism?”, Jean asked with a smug grin, earning himself a light slap against his side. He saw the corners of Marco's mouth twitch, though.

 “I'm talking about pancakes, you dork.” Marco opened his eyes again and Jean playfully stuck his tongue out at him, before leaning back down and pressing his lips against Marco's. The kiss deepened naturally after a couple of heartbeats, with Marco parting his lips for him and angling his head. He still tasted faintly of Vodka Red Bull.

Jean let out an embarrassing squeal as Marco rolled him onto his back, leaning over him easily. They made out for a little while and Jean let himself hope for more, when Marco broke away with a smile and whispered “come on” before sitting up. Ah, probably better this way.

After watching Marco fish a fresh pair of boxers out of a drawer and padding out of the room, stretching his arms above his head with a groan, the muscles in his back moving deliciously, Jean rolled out of bed as well. He felt slightly self-conscious about his comparatively scrawny body and considered getting properly dressed, before deciding that was stupid.

He found Marco in the kitchen, knocking back a couple of pills and downing them with a glass of water.

“Want some Aspirin?” he asked, rattling the little bottle at Jean. “The older I get, the worse I suffer after parties.”

Jean nodded and accepted two tablets and a glass of water with a muttered thanks. After swallowing them, he voiced the question on his mind. “How old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-five,” Marco answered, turning to the fridge and yanking the door open to inspect its contents. “You're twenty-four, right?”

Jean raised his eyebrows in surprise, although Marco wasn't looking at him, busy with taking out margarine, eggs and milk. “How do you know?”

Marco let out a little bashful laugh, briefly touching his index finger to the tip of his nose in a nervous gesture as he looked at Jean. “Connie _may_ have advertised you a little to me before you showed up.”

He was gonna have to murder Connie. Hiding his face in his hands with an agonized groan, he wondered what the hell that little shit could possibly have said about him. Connie's wingman qualities were famously inconsistent. Sometimes he found exactly the right words. But mostly, he said all the wrong things. The Night of the Coconut Bra still haunted him.

“It wasn't bad, I promise,” Marco said with that musical laugh of his. Jean really liked his laugh. It was uninhibited, like he held nothing back. Jean lowered his hands from his face and looked back at Marco who was merrily tossing ingredients into a bowl.

“What did he say?” Jean walked over and leaned his hip against the counter, watching him work.

“He said that you're hot, which turned out to be true, and slightly grumpy, which also turned out to be true,” Marco told him with a grin, either not noticing or not acknowledging the blush creeping up Jean's cheeks, “and that you're exactly what I'm looking for.”

“And did that turn out to be true?”

“Oh, yeah.” Marco leaned in and gave Jean a lingering kiss that kinda made his insides melt.

The pancakes Marco made were thin, European style. They ate them with their fingers, covered in Nutella and raspberry jam, and rolled up. Leaning against the kitchen unit, Jean and Marco talked about the events of the previous evening and TV shows and their mutual friends, exchanging sweet-tasting kisses every now and then.

As much as Jean would've liked to spend the whole day in bed with Marco, he knew he had to leave. He needed a shower and a change of clothes and a shit, and he needed to do all that in his own apartment. He got dressed while Marco cleared up the kitchen a little and when Jean came back out and started edging towards the front door, he felt a little awkward for the first time since he'd met Marco.

Still in nothing but his boxers, Marco brought him to the door, seeming perfectly at ease. It kind of helped to calm Jean's nerves but he still felt pretty jittery when he spoke. 

“So, can I have your number?” 

Marco looked slightly taken aback for a second but then he schooled his features back into a relaxed expression. The way he rubbed his foot against his calf gave away his discomfort, though. 

“Uh, I should probably tell you that I'm not really looking for anything... serious right now,” he said to the floor. Jean felt his heart sink sickeningly. “I just broke up with someone and yeah.” 

When he looked back up at Jean, he could tell Marco saw the disappointment on his face as a trace of sympathy flickered across his. Aw, shit, this was so horrible!

“I'm sorry, Jean, when Connie said –” he broke off, his eyes flitting between Jean's, “I kind of assumed –“ 

“N-no, it's okay, I totally, uh, get it!” Jean stammered, finding his voice and clearing his throat. Get it the fuck together, Kirschstein, what did you expect? He took a step back, closing his hand around the door handle and pulling the door open. “I'll see you around, then.” 

“Yeah, see you,” Marco mumbled, looking a little baffled at Jean's sudden exit. With a forced smile, Jean slipped out of the door and raised a hand, before he hurried down the stairs without looking back. 

He only let himself slow down once he'd left the apartment building and rounded the next corner, leaning back against the building, his heart beating in his throat. 

Fuck, he was so damn _stupid_. How could he have let himself get so attached so quickly? He'd only just met the guy, this rejection should not burn in his chest like bile. And yet here he was, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he tried to fight down this ridiculous hurt. 

The almost delirious happiness he'd felt in Marco's arms was wilting quickly. What was settling in his stomach now was mortification at the way he'd snuggled into him, the way he'd kissed him, pouring himself into the feeling, unbridled and heart open. Why hadn't he seen that Marco didn't feel the same way? 

Jean swallowed. He'd always thought he had a good instinct about those things, a decent ability to judge people and their feelings. The way Marco had looked at him had sent him flying, sent the his blood rushing, and he'd seen that mirrored in him. Or at least he'd thought he had. Why, _why_ had Marco been like that with him if he wasn't interested at all? 

Oh _god_ , he'd just humored Jean, hadn't he? 

Unable to live with that thought, Jean let out a muffled yell and began walking again, briskly, his fists buried deep inside his pockets. Pedestrians looked at him with raised eyebrows as he huffed past them but he didn't give a fuck. When his swirling thoughts threatened to burst out in a scream or a good kick against a trash can, Jean pulled out his phone and called someone to yell at. 

“Heeeyyy, stud, calling to thank me?” Connie hollered into his ear, disgustingly chipper, Sasha's giggling in the background. He'd obviously put him on speaker phone. 

“What the _fuck_ did you tell Marco about me?” Jean growled into the speaker through gritted teeth. A little girl sitting on a bench stared at him with her mouth hanging open. He sped up his step before he got an earful about swearing from the mother or something. 

“What?” Connie sounded confused. 

“Marco said you told him I was 'just what he is looking for'. What the hell did you say exactly?” 

There was a brief silence from Connie's end. Jean imagined him exchanging a glance with Sasha. They were probably still in bed. “Well, Marco said he wanted some uncomplicated fun and, uh, I kinda said you were the perfect candidate for that.” 

“I'm gonna fucking kill you, Connie!” Jean rounded a corner and stormed past the subway entrance, finding himself unable to face the thought of sitting still for more than two seconds. “I can't believe you set me up to be his rebound!” 

“Dude, I didn't think that would be a problem for you!” Connie responded, sounding honestly surprised. Jean just huffed. “What happened?” 

“I just made an absolute ass out of myself, is what happened. Because I want to see him again and he doesn't!” Saying it out loud made Jean grimace. 

“Oh, noooo,” Sasha gasped, in a voice as though she'd just seen puppies being drowned. 

“I'm sorry, man, I really am,” Connie said. “But it was, like, last week that you said you were glad to be”, he lowered his tone to a grump, imitating Jean, “'free and unattached', remember?” Jean gave an irritated grunt. Yeah, he did remember. Didn't mean he had to admit it. “I didn't expect you to change your mind so soon.” 

“Yeah... me neither.” 

“You really like him, don't you?” Sasha asked, voice excited. 

Jean struggled with himself but couldn't quite fight down the words, instead letting them spill out with a sigh. “I do.” 

Sasha squealed in delight and Jean had to yank the phone away from his ear to prevent serious damage. When he dared to listen again, Connie was talking. 

“– just gonna give up? Come on, you guys really hit it off at the party, I could tell. Despite what he says, Marco doesn't just sleep with anyone, you know?” 

“Yeah, well...” Jean scrubbed his hand through his doubtlessly catastrophic hair, noting he'd slowed down to a more of a stroll. “That doesn't change the fact that he said he didn't want anything serious and didn't give me his number. And I kinda ran out on him like a moron.” 

“They're both idiots,” he heard Connie mutter, presumably to Sasha who just cackled. “Jean, why don't you just come over?” 

“You just want me to help with the clean-up, you dick.” 

“Well, if you're offering...” 

 

* * *

 

 

Jean was pretty insufferable for the next couple of days, he could admit that much to himself. He was irritable and impatient at work, causing his co-workers at the office to sneak around him as though scared to startle a potentially dangerous animal. After being teased by Reiner about his “lovesick grumps” at their bi-monthly guys gaming session, he decided it would be better to spend his evenings alone at home, where nobody would annoy him with stupid questions about his non-existent love life. 

That didn't turn out to be the best of ideas. Wednesday evening was spent with a beer and Marco's Facebook profile. Of course that idiot had everything set to public. His profile picture showed him at the beach in a gray hoodie, the hood pulled up over his hair, his hand buried in the pockets. The sea behind him, ruffled by a fall wind, was a brilliant blue that paled next to his toothy smile. 

A bitter laugh escaped Jean as he clicked through pictures of the apparent perfection that was Marco Bodt. There he was, posing with a girl with pig-tails, both wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and making outrageously bad duck faces. In a ridiculous pose, tangled with several other people on a Twister mat, beer bottle held inches from his mouth as he tried to stop laughing long enough to take a sip. Lying in the grass, his eyes closed, remnants of a picnic next to him. A selfie, showing off one of those hats with ear flaps. It looked kind of stupid on him. But also cute. 

He was a sauté chef at the same restaurant Sasha worked at. His favorite quote was a line from A Song of Ice and Fire. Judging from the countless congratulations on his wall, it had been his birthday recently. Scrolling further down, he soon saw that Marco had a habit of posting old songs each week, under the heading “Throwback Thursday”. The variety of genres made it impossible for Jean to discern a certain music taste. It kind of suited him. 

When he stumbled upon a post from a guy called Thomas that ended with a little heart icon, Jean found himself almost clicking his profile as well to go into Stalker Overdrive, before he closed his browser window with a strangled cry and then slammed his laptop shut for good measure. This was going to far. Do not stalk the ex, Jean. 

By the next weekend his mood had settled a little but he still found himself staring at Marco's Facebook profile sometimes, stubbornly not clicking “Send Friend Request.” Connie seemed to have made it his mission in life to get Jean to make a move, earning himself nothing but threats of physical violence. After an evening of about fifty texts that all said exactly the same thing (“Talk to Marco.”), Jean seriously considered just blocking his number. But he couldn't really do that. 

It was pretty fucking pathetic. Whenever Jean didn't occupy his mind for a moment, thoughts of Marco took over. He couldn't stop thinking about the way his nose scrunched up slightly when he laughed or how he started gesticulating wildly when he talked about something he liked or his goddamn freckles. 

When he lay in bed, he'd remember the softness of Marco's skin and the feeling of his tongue on him and, _oh god_ , he was gonna explode soon. Jean couldn't help but imagine more scenarios of their sweaty bodies pressed together, of Marco moaning his name. Sometimes, when he was a little less of a loser, he liked to imagine them just lying in bed, holding each other and whispering lovely nothings to each other. He didn't know which line of thought made him blush more fiercely. 

 

* * *

 

 

Reiner had to promise not to bring up anything involving Marco or Jean's moods or feelings, before he agreed to join them for their next game night. Since he felt slightly bad for having been such a horrible friend lately, Jean stopped by the corner store and got two six packs. They were meeting up at Eren's this time, which meant Mikasa would probably be there, so he got her a pack of Skittles, knowing she didn't drink. 

And indeed, it was her who opened the door when he rang the bell at Jäger/Ackermann. 

“Hey, Jean,” she greeted with that small smile of hers and stepped aside to let him in. The unmistakable racket of half a dozen of guys gaming filled the apartment. “You're the last one to get here.” 

“Yeah, I stopped on the way to pick up refreshments,” he said, setting down the beer and reaching back into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out the sweets. “The sour ones, right?” 

Mikasa's face lit up and she snatched the pack out of his hand. “You're sweet.” 

“Remember that when I'm being a miserable asshole.”

 “Will do. I'll be in my room.” And with a little wave she disappeared through a door on the right. 

“Jean, is that you?” came Eren's voice from the living room. 

Grinning widely, Jean stepped into the room with the six packs raised. “Guess who brought beer!” 

Cheers erupted from the guys, all except one. The beer nearly slipped from Jean's grip as he spotted Marco sitting on an Ottoman in the far corner, eyes big. 

These fucking assholes. 

“Oh, you know Marco, _right_?” Connie chimed, elongating the last word like the fucking douche he was. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he hadn't even bothered to put on a fresh shirt after work. 

“Yeah, hi,” he muttered, tearing his gaze from Marco and setting the beers on the coffee table and opening one immediately. After taking a large gulp, he squeezed himself onto the couch between Bertl and Armin. “So what are we playing tonight?” 

“Since it's Marco's first time,” Reiner announced with a sweeping gesture toward the special guest, “he got to choose. And he chose Mario Kart.” 

It was gonna be a long night. 

Of course, he _somehow_ found himself sitting next to Marco on the crowded couch after a while, pressed against him from shoulder to knee. That turned out especially hilarious for everyone when they raced against each other and they both leaned to their sides while playing as though actually swaying with the motion, inadvertently in sync. Marco kicked his distracted ass. 

After some initial awkwardness it wasn't hard to talk to Marco again. That was mainly to his credit, though. He just had this incredibly calming effect on Jean. Briefly he wondered whether Marco might be one of the X-Men, that power of making him feel at ease was seriously superhuman. As was that goddamn laugh. Jean would've been content to lay his head in Marco's lap for the rest of the evening to just listen to him talk and laugh. Maybe have him stroke his hair. 

God, he was so fucked.

In some way or another they ended up like at Sasha's party two weeks prior. Some time during a race Jean had leaned back on the corner sofa, removing himself from the clamor as Eren yelled abuse at the screen because Armin had just chosen Rainbow Road. Marco had stretched back next to him and soon they were deep in conversation, talking low in their little bubble, faces close. 

Thankfully, the others left them alone. 

Jean could barely keep the smile off his face while they talked, his fingers picking at the label of his beer bottle, and from the looks of it neither could Marco. He knew he wasn't imagining things. It had been easy to dismiss his instincts when Marco had just rejected him, to tell himself he'd just read too much into Marco's behavior toward him. But he hadn't, he knew he hadn't. 

Marco kept finding opportunities to touch him, to lightly slap his arm when he laughed or nudge his side when Jean teased him. Like they weren't already sitting as closely together as they could without climbing into each other's laps. 

God, he wanted to kiss him. So badly. At one point during their conversation he caught himself staring at Marco's lips for who knows how long, barely listening to his anecdote about the time he'd gone through the McDonald's Drive Thru in a shopping cart with his older brother. He was pretty sure he noticed because when Jean focused his gaze back on Marco's whole face, he saw him bite his lip around a grin. Jean tried to cover his blushing by taking another sip of his now warm beer. 

It was around ten that Eren announced he was kicking them all out. One look between them and Jean knew they would not, could not part ways yet. 

“Can we talk?” Marco asked quietly as everyone rose and started gathering their belongings. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I could walk you home.” At Jean's surprised look he added, “I'm on the dinner shift tomorrow.” 

They only had to endure minimal teasing from the others when they saw them departing together. Jean flipped them off but Marco just laughed and waved suggestively, making heat rise into Jean's cheeks again. He would never admit it but he was already considering how to call in sick to work for the next day. 

The walk back to Jean's passed quickly, fifteen minutes of walking unnecessarily close to each other and Jean wishing he had the balls to take Marco's hand. They laughed at their friends and the way Bertl had sweated bullets during his race against Marco, only to realize he'd spent the whole time staring at the wrong part of the screen. 

“So... how did they lure you there?” Jean asked as they rounded the corner of his street. His eyes flickered to the sidewalk, trying to avoid stepping on the lines between tiles. 

“Connie said he was playing games with a couple of friends”, Marco began, his voice a little shakier than usual. “And he asked if I wanted to join. I was kinda hoping you'd be there.” 

Jean snapped his head back up to look at Marco whose eyes met his. 

“I'm assuming you didn't know I'd be there.” 

“No,” Jean confirmed, coming to a halt in front of his apartment building. This was so much like the end of a date it was kind of ridiculous. “But I'm glad you were.” 

Marco stopped as well, taking in the concrete chunk he lived in. He seemed to inspect the building for a needlessly long time, obviously nervous about looking at Jean again. When he finally did, the nervousness was obvious in his features as well as in his voice. 

“I know I kind of,” he swallowed, “blew you off the other day when you asked for my number and that was pretty stupid. But at the time I thought I was doing the right thing because I don't know if I'm ready for something new.” 

Jean just looked at him, heart aflutter in his chest. 

“But I'm gonna be honest, I can't stop thinking about you and if you could give me another chance –“ 

A nervous giggle escaped through Jean's lips. Quickly, he slapped a hand to his mouth, his eyes wide. Marco looked confused, hurt, and Jean knew he had to fix this quickly. Lowering his hand, he grabbed Marco's and gave it a little squeeze. 

“I'm sorry, shit, I just – hearing you say that was so unreal just now because you've been on my mind _constantly_ since the party and I convinced myself you couldn't possibly – and I can't believe this is happening, oh god, I'm rambling.”

Marco laughed a little, leaning forward until his forehead was touching Jean's. They just breathed for a moment, Jean's mind racing, trying to think of something less embarrassing to say. 

“Does that mean I can get your number?” 

That made Marco laugh again. The punch Jean got to his arm was totally worth it. 

“I'm still kind of messed up, though,” Marco confessed, voice low. 

“It's okay,” Jean breathed, rubbing his nose against Marco's. “We'll just see where this takes us, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

When they kissed, Marco let out a pleased little whimper, sending Jean's blood thundering through his veins. Jean wrapped his arms around Marco's waist, pulling him to him and sighing into his hot mouth. The wet slide of their mouths and the way Marco slipped his hands to his jaw, holding him, soon had him shuddering for him, aching to get closer. 

They barely broke away from each other for the way up to Jean's tiny apartment, fingers never leaving each other as they stumbled across the room to Jean's bed. Eager as they were, there was still nothing urgent about the way they moved with each other, all lingering touches and deep kisses. Jean could feel himself falling, falling faster with each stroke of Marco's warm hands, with each whisper shared between them and each expression of bliss flickering over his lover's features, and Jean hoped he'd never reach the ground. 

Jean fell asleep wrapped in Marco's arms that night, content in the knowledge that he'd wake up this way as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this thing that I wrote to escape from my responsibilities! Comments are food for my soul :)


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